


First and Last

by Innin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Clothed Sex, F/F, Hair-pulling, Historical Sex Toys, Kissing, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: The first of the Nazgûl pays a visit to the last of them.
Relationships: Nazgûl/Nazgûl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	First and Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guileheroine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/gifts).



Ugruzîr, as her name promised, came by night. The city walls were no obstacle to her, and the unsleeping guards by the palace gates had realized nothing but a chill night breeze passing them by. 

The watch that guarded the Shadow Emperor's sleeping quarters found, after the night breeze passed them, a black-robed figure sitting on the side of the Emperor's bed, leaving little imprint, simply watching the figure under the golden-yellow sheets sleep from the shadow of a black hood. 

They froze, spears in hand, when Ugruzîr reached out a brown hand to brush her hood aside. On her hand gleamed a ring in thorny gold and silver. 

The same that gleamed on the Shadow Emperor's hand. The same that enhanced her powers.

The fell prone, faces to the floor, and dared not rise again until the latticework window was flooded with the light of the rising sun, Ugruzîr donned her hood once more, and swept away in a breath of dark wind. 

* * *

The Shadow Emperor woke from restless dreams. She sat up in the bed with a start, finding her guardsmen already prone on the floor as though they had already been expecting her to rise. 

"Curious," she said, and rose, stepping between them on bare feet. "There is a strange feeling in the air. Did anyone come into my chambers at night?"  
Of course she already knew the answer, like calling to like, and the restless dreams of a woman's hand stretching from the coast far over the kingdoms of Harad to gather them all in a fist, with a fierce look westward to the Starward Isle for something that she had been denied. A woman's hand touching the hair lying fanned on her pillow.

But what mattered most: Another of the Stranger's ring-bound servants was a woman. 

* * *

When Ugruzîr came again, the Shadow Emperor was ready. Aishre had dismissed her attendants, dismissed her guards and drawn the latticework shutters close to dim the evening light like she liked it best - though that was not why she had named herself that - it was for her son's sake, and his future. 

_If he had one, now that she bore a ring._ But those qualms had grown quiet in her mind since the ring had been fitted to her finger where they had been louder before.

The figure in the black hood laughed, low and shivering. The timbre made her want to fall to her knees in worship before they had even spoken the first word. When Aishre's visitor finally broke her silent observation, she said,

"You are the latest of our order. His mightiest servants. I heard whispers of a Rhûnish kingdom come to power lately, and had to see for myself. To welcome you." Suddenly there, Ugruzîr stepped from the shadows toward the bed. "I had not expected to find you fair." 

Aishre did not answer. She wore only a thin nightgown, the golden-yellow silk that was her prerogative, so thin it was nearly translucent. Ugruzîr stepped closer, the movement barely visible to mortal eye, but appearing sharp as a knife's edge to Aishre. Her breath caught.

"What gave you the title Shadow Emperor?" Ugruzîr asked as she sat on the bed's edge, all in black, although the pattern of a white star wound with a red snake stood out on the hem of her cloak. "It is a most uncommon name, especially for a woman." 

"I… Aishre felt stripped bare, helpless, drawn to that gaze all the same. The ring burned on her finger, and in the back of her mind, another awareness lurked, a gaze like distant flame, forcing honesty, as every lie would be laid bare to those who shared her bond, and punished. "I am the power behind my son's throne. But this land is such that females," and her voice grew bitter like poison, "are not worth much, if anything at all, beyond wedding bed and childbed. But my husband lies in his cairn on a foreign battlefield, and my son is only six years old. I will rule in his stead another ten years, but in that time - no one must know that I am me, nor that I am a woman. They would not accept his decrees. All but a few think that I have gone to my husband's grave in chains to join him there, and it is a minister of the court who rules in my son's stead. Hence the male title. I am caught here. Imprisoned." 

"For now," Ugruzîr answered simply. "The ring gives you a measure of freedom, and our master bids me to show you to use your power. Surely you have felt already that taking it off is taking off a measure of your power?" 

"I had power before," she said, haughty. "I was a sorceress in my own right before the Stranger ever came to me, and I am certain that he would not have chosen me if not for that. Only those with strength can bear a ring such as ours, and grow stronger still, instead of weathering away as clay does in the rain." 

"Show me," Ugruzîr said. 

Aishre moved her hand, and found that the magic that should have flowed from it like water was countered by another, stronger force - Ugruzîr's magic, not merely flowing from the ring and ensnaring her own, from some source beyond the world, a miniscule claim on Great Song of Spirits that had made the world. 

"What -" she said, while Ugruzîr's hand came up to her hair, stroked, and twisted, hard. Aishre cried out, but not without a jolt of heat toward her center to be so handled. She had not been touched in so long. She had not been touched in this way for far longer.

"- what are you?!" 

"The Blood of Númenor. The youngest daughter of a youngest daughter of a side branch of Andûnië the West-Haven, kin to the royal house of the isle, She Who Cradles the Colonies and the Oases, First of the Nine, as you are Last. There are no more rings to give out, no one will follow after you. I came to welcome you." 

The pressure in Aishre's hair faded, and she found she could breathe again, lying on her back and staring up into the face under Ugruzîr's hood, the pallor of the brown skin there, the glint of her eyes and the whorls of curls escaping the hood. 

She reached out and brushed the hood aside - and hesitated. Ugruzîr seemed faint around the edges, as though a painter had gone and erased the lines from their painting, a faint translucency and the shadow of bone beneath skin. 

It made Aishre's blood run cold, but even so. 

"You seem startled," Ugruzîr said. "And it is not always pleasant. The rings demand a sacrifice, but imagine what we can do when we have shed these unjustly mortal bodies until they are nothing more than echoes and our power runs untrammelled." 

Her voice and the intensity of her words hunted more shivers through Aishre. She reached out a hand, resting it on Ugruzîr's cheek, feeling the cool skin and the thrum of blood beneath. "Do you never regret this… fading?" 

Ugruzîr's voice dropped to a whisper. "Never." 

"I do not believe you." Aishre could not have said why, perhaps an inner voice or the connection they shared through the rings, a murmur of distant thoughts. There were others there, too, but they had all been so far away that she had not yet paid them any mind. Now that Ugruzîr was so close, it was much easier to read her, much easier to - 

\- she found the connection, and let her power flow, giving Ugruzîr a measure of her own want that moment. 

Ugruzîr gasped above her, a sheen of sweat came to bead her brow, while her eyes grew wide. "What did you do?" Her mouth came down onto Aishre's without hesitation, and Aishre drank up the kiss like a gift. How long had it been since her husband had last kissed her that way? How long since she had summoned a dancing girl to serve her that way? 

Ugruzîr's tongue, deft and skilled, caressed her mouth until Aishre gasped and found herself unable to even reciprocate, forcing their lips to stay together, her fingernails digging into the fabric of Ugruzîr's cloak like she was drowning, until that was no longer enough, until she pushed the cloak away and found a dress of lace and linen underneath, finely spun red and gold that warmed Ugruzîr's skin and made her glow. 

She broke the kiss long enough for a "You're beautiful," before Ugruzîr forced her into contact again and she happily yielded with a noise of pleasure. "Please. Pull my hair again," she managed in between kisses, remembering the pain stinging from the roots like a shock to her body, trying to brace herself in anticipation. Instead, Ugruzîr's ringed hand stroked the smooth brown of her hair, curling where it touched the sweat on her skin. Her fingers trailed through it, tracing locks, until Aishre lay nearly boneless, and her breath had deepened in so much pleasure.

Ugruzîr struck like a snake, with sharp, sweet pain. Several dark hairs dangled between her fingers when her hand came away, and Aishre twisted helplessly under her. "Please. Again." 

The game repeated. Ugruzîr took up a hair brush from the nightstand. She gathered Aishre's hair in her hands to to run the soft bristles over it until it lay long, smooth and shining around her in the low light. By now, Aishre was sure she must have soiled the bed with her wetness. She had been the one to take away any inhibitions that Ugruzîr might have had - but she herself needed this. She waited only for the pain. Any second, and moment - what came instead - Ugruzîr's lips, warm and soft like silk on her neck, her white teeth grazing along Aishre's pulse line, the lips fastening to suck until that, too, nearly hurt. Enough to leave a mark, then another, and yet more, until her throat must be, she imagined, dotted with bruises as if she wore a string of pearls. Aishre gasped and squirmed against the blankets, too far gone to do anything but plead wordlessly for more, for relief, and yet more. Ugruzîr treated her like the ring's power made manifest - giving more, and then needing more, and giving more yet, but never satisfying her fully.

And then, to her dismay, Ugruzîr pulled away. Pulled her hands from her hair, and pulled her mouth from Aishre's throat. She wanted to cry at the lack of contact, wanted to follow, but found herself pressed into the pillows by nothing more than the power of Ugruzîr's gaze. 

"This, and only this I will miss in our fading," Ugruzir ran a fingernail, filed to a point, down the center of Aishre's nightgown to leave a burning mark on her skin even though the fabric remained whole. "Bodies that enjoy pleasure. But we have not yet faded so much that we can no longer feel it. Show me how you would take yours." 

"Take… my pleasure?" Aishre's voice stuttered, the words were barely a breath. "I have… I have…" She reached out for a drawer set into the wall by her bed and pulled it open to reveal an array of toys - carved and smoothened rock, metal, lacquered wood in many shapes. "I have not… I did not use them in a long time. Other matters occupied my mind." 

"Then it is past time that they see use again." Ugruzîr reached; her fingers curled around a bronze phallus, reached underneath her robe, and slid it home. Aishre could only see the movement of her hand under the fabric, but Ugruzîr had let her head fall back unguarded for a moment, those lovely eyes closed in raptured bliss, and eventually opened one eye to look at Aishre, a clear invitation, hitched laughter. 

She was so beautiful, and Aishre wanted to touch her - be her, or at the very least be in her place. 

"Would you let me do this all alone?" 

It needed no more invitation than that for her to join Ugruzîr. She slid her hand under the robes, marvelling at the fine weave of them soft against her hand, then found the counterpoint - coarse hair, wetness, the bronze phallus now warmed by Ugruzîr body, Ugruzîr's fingers wrapped around the base to move it in an out, teasingly, deft, unashamed.

They moved it in tandem, and Aishre tried not to fumble - unused to this type of play. She dug her fingers into the meat of Ugruzîr's upper thigh until she hissed, and did not relent, thinking how the sweat must burn in those scrapes and fingernail crescents, and summoned power in her palm, half from the ring, half out of her own self, and jolted it through Ugruzîr without a warning, a sweet revenge for the lack of pain and pleasure when Ugruzîr's thoughts turned to herself.

Ugruzîr convulsed around the phallus and came with a long cry. The hand that had come up to grasp Aishre's hair twisted, and she heard herself keen as well, and beyond that, at the edge of Aishre's hearing, nearing an unearthly wail, high-pitched and lonesome that shook her to the core more than any climax would.

When her racing heart slowed and calmed, Aishre pulled the phallus free from Ugruzîr, lifting it to her lips to taste her essence, and giving her lover time to breathe and recover, stroking the silky whorls of her hair, now lying tousled on the pillows. 

"Whatever awaits us," Aishre said, making her decision, "It awaits us together."

**Author's Note:**

> Ugruzîr translates to "Desire of Shadow (with an evil connotation)". I don't think it would have been her birth name, but it's my headcanon that she assumed it herself to honour Sauron at some point during her life.


End file.
